


Shillings and Bar Fights

by SeriousPooBrain



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, minimal violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriousPooBrain/pseuds/SeriousPooBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob and the Reader get into a friendly competition during a bar fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You sighed as you swirled the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass. It had been a long week chasing down Starrick’s strong holds. With the week drawing to a close, you were out to celebrate your latest take down of a notorious gang leader - Bloody Nora. You hadn’t been alone your little mission; instead you had been graced with the oh so handsome Jacob Frye’s presence. 

For the first time since you had met him, he had let you make a plan, let you work out the details, and to be honest it was a good thing; otherwise you might have been sitting there with a lot more than a few cuts and scrapes. It had not been an easy fight, and there had been many men lost on both sides.

“You’re being awful quiet.”

Speak of the devil.

You glanced up at the rugged assassin, cocking a brow as he sat down across from you, a pint in hand.

“Tired. It was a long day today,” you conceded, taking a sip of your drink. It burned as it slid down your throat, making you grimace slightly.

He chuckled lightly as he took a gulp, glancing over his shoulder at the partying Rooks before returning his attention to you. “That it was,” he murmured.

“S'cuse me, miss,” a rougher voice caught both of your attentions. A ragged looking man leaned on the table next to you, his breath stinking of alcohol as he leaned a little too close for comfort. Your nose wrinkled with disgust as you tried your hardest to be polite.

“What can I do for you, sir?” you asked as pleasantly as possible.

“Why don’t you join me and my friends for a drink? We could have a good time,” he slurred, his hand brushing against your arm.

You immediately bristled as you pushed his hand away from you. A sense of uncleanliness crawled along your skin as you dusted your arm off. Anything to shake the feeling of being touched by this disgusting man.

Jacob tensed, but settled as you waved him off. “No, thank you, sir,” you said, offering him a terse smile. “I’m comfortable sitting here with my friend.” You jabbed your thumb in Jacob’s direction, earning a small smirk from him.

“I insist,” the man ground out, reaching again for your arm.

Jacob was up before you could blink, grabbing the collar of the drunk’s jacket. “The lady said no,” he growled low, shoving the man backwards. “Now beat it.”

The man stumbled, colliding less than gracefully with another occupied table. One of the larger men sitting at the table rose, shoving the drunk man away. Naturally, it all seemed to spiral out of control from there as choruses of drunk slurs joined the impending fight. Men rose from their seats, the liquid courage pounding in their veins as small scuffles began to break out.

A large hand grabbed your shoulder as Jacob effortlessly pulled you up and away from the table, just in time as another body sent it toppling over. The sudden momentum sent you stumbling into Jacob’s chest, his arms coming around you to steady you without a second thought.

“Bastard spilled my drink,” you growled as you wistfully stared at the pools of amber.

“There’s always time to get another one, love. However, I do believe there’s a more pressing issue at hand,” Jacob assured you, covering you with his body against a thrown beer bottle as it hit the back of his shoulder.

You peeked out from under his arm only to catch sight of a group of Blighters shoving their way into the pub. Their red coats stood out like an ill-fated beacon in the midst of the sea of green Rooks. The poor bastards never had a chance in hell against the sheer numbers of your allies. With a small smirk, you glanced at Jacob, your eyes gleaming playfully.  
“Five shillings to the one who kills the most Blighters,” you challenged him, watching as his face lit up.

The corners of his lips turned upwards in a cocky grin, making you want to smack it right off his face even more. “Promise not to cry when I win?” he taunted, winking.

“Oh, you mean like that one time when I took your money at the carriage races? I do remember being a good ten shillings richer,” you shot back, your smirk growing as his slipped into a pout – an adorable, irresistible little pout.

“You picked horses that were ‘pretty’. That was sheer beginner’s luck,” he grumbled.

“Sore loser,” you teased, playfully pushing him out of your way as you blended into the waves of bright green.

The Rooks paid no attention to you, instead riled up into a frothy rage at the sight of their enemies. It was going to be a blood bath in this pub, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. The barkeep had abandoned ship a long time ago, leaving the patrons to fend for themselves as the two opposing factions closed in on each other.  
With what seemed like inhuman grace, you flicked out your hidden blade, planting it swiftly into the throat of a young female Blighter. There hadn’t been time for her to even realize what had happened as she hit the ground at your feet. Blood stained your boots, a grim reminder as you stepped over her and back into the flood of Rooks.  
One down.

“Three!” you heard Jacob yell across the pub.

Cursing under your breath, you hurriedly pushed through the Rooks, taking out another Blighter from behind, stepping over his fallen body as well to take a swing at his much larger and much more formidable partner. The large man bellowed in anger at the sight of you, a large knife clutched tightly above his head. A lesser man would have ran at the very sight of him, but you tightened your fist, determination glinting in your eyes.

The man swung downward, staggering his stance as he met nothing but the wooden floor. You twisted to the side, narrowly dodging the blow as you aimed a sweep for his legs. What he lacked in speed, he made up for in strength as he grabbed you by the back of your jacket, flinging you across the floor. The air left your lungs in a hurry, leaving you gasping for breath as you scrambled to avoid another heavy blow.

The floor splintered, catching you above the eye as the Blighter’s ax thudded into the wood. The pain was barely noticeable, a sting in the midst of adrenaline and violence. You didn’t even care as a little trickle of blood ran its way down the side of your face, staining your jacket. This was not a game, and you were tired of playing cat and mouse with this brute of a man.

Leaping onto his back, you sank your blade into his neck, grimacing at the crunch as he fell to the floor. Two.

Looking up, you failed to see Jacob amongst the chaos that was now the pub. He could take care of himself, no doubt, and you had a score to keep up. With a deep breath your threw yourself back into the fray, effectively taking down another pair of Blighters as they attacked a lone Rook. The Rook tipped his hat in thanks, disappearing into the crowd, only to leave you to face another pair by yourself. This dance was just like every other, leaving two more bodies in the aftermath. Six.

Small choruses of cheers rose from the sea of green as the more cowardly Blighters ran for their lives. The crowd was now beginning to disperse as you searched for Jacob.  
As you reached the front of the pub you spotted him fighting another heavy hitter and a small wiry Blighter. Every time he would go to make a move the larger Blighter would block his path, sending him dodging to the side to avoid a nasty blow to the chest. You could see his chest heaving with the effort as he leaped towards the smaller opponent.  
It took less than the blink of an eye for him to dispatch his enemy, leaving himself open to the larger Blighter’s attack.

Hurrying forward, you jumped over several fallen chairs, climbing onto one of the few remaining tables to gain a height advantage. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to be enough to give you enough of a slight edge against your opponent as you leaped, slicing your blade across his forearm. What was surely a pinprick to the beast was enough to distract him from your fellow Assassin, his rage rounding on you.

Jacob wheeled around right as you sank your blade into the Blighter’s belly, leaving him a horrible bloody mess on the floor. You couldn’t decide if the look on his face was relief or surprise as he straightened up, wiping his hands on jacket.

“Seven,” you said simply, watching as Jacob’s jaw fell slack, not even bothering to hide the disbelief in his face as his gaze trailed from you, to the body, and back to you. “Well?”  
His arms fell heavy at his sides, his shoulders hunching as that familiar pout returned unhappily to his lips. “Six,” he grumbled, glowering as you held out your hand to him.  
There was a moment’s pause as he considered his options. You cleared your throat, raising a brow at him expectantly, which only earned you another unhappy glare.  
“Fine,” he growled, slapping the coins into your hands.

“Why thank you, Mr. Frye. Don’t worry - they’ll be well spent,” you teased, slipping them into your pockets as he continued to grumble underneath his breath. It sounded suspiciously like 'cheating’ or even 'unfair advantage’.

His muttering became a distance noise as you surveyed the damage done to the pub. Bodies from both sides lay littered on the floor, blood staining the wood like a bad paint job. It was going to take quite a bit of work to clean this mess up. Overall the Rooks weren’t too worse for wear, the minor victory raising their spirits again as they took care of their injured comrades. The man from earlier was nowhere to be seen, presumed among the fallen, or passed out drunk in the ally behind the pub.

A touch nearly made you jump out of your skin, bringing your attention back to Jacob as his hazel eyes scoured your face.

“What?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“I said you’re hurt,” he said, frowning as he brushed your hair away from the cut above your eye.

“It’s just a scratch,” you shrugged, brushing it off. “You should get your arm looked at – it’s bleeding.”

The assassin glanced down at his right arm where his jacket had been torn, revealing a bright red cut, blood welling up along the edges. “Oh, would you look at that,” he mused.

“That probably needs to be stitched up, Jacob.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his nonchalant attitude as another commotion began to stir outside. A squad of police officers rallied outside the doors of the pub, no doubt looking to for people to arrest for the bloody fight that had just broken out. Their authoritative shouts threatened to send the Rooks back up into a fury, many scattering like cockroaches under the light.

“I do believe that’s our cue, love. Back to the train?” Jacob asked, tilting his head towards the back of the pub as he held out his hand to you.

“Ah, yes, I think that would be best,” you agreed. You slipped your small hand into his larger one, relishing the feel of your skin against his as he gently grasped it.

“Ladies first.”

You couldn’t help but throw a sarcastic smirk in his direction as he helped you slip through the window and into the street.


	2. Chapter 2

The cool night air nipped at your face as you leaned wearily against the brick of a weathered old building. Now that the adrenaline had worn off you were exhausted and sore, and the cut above your eye stung like no other. Jacob wasn’t in much better shape ahead of you; the bleeding had momentarily stopped, but you knew it was only a matter of time before it started again. The young assassin wasn’t exactly easy on his body, and the last several near encounters with Blighters had proven that.

Now he held his hand out to silence you as he checked around the corner. The streets were eerily quiet, and it set your nerves on edge as Jacob began to move forward. You followed close behind, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be looking to cause trouble.

“Oi! Where do yeh think yer goin’?” a voice shouted.

Your stomach dropped as you and Jacob made eye contact before slowly turning towards the source of the sound. A pair of Blighters stared at you hard across the street, their glares harsh under the glow of the gas light. Their strides were deliberate as they sauntered in your direction; there was no question they were itching for a fight and you two just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. With not a single Rook in sight you were on even ground.

Your breath was visible in the air as you let out a slow and heavy sigh. “What do you think?”

Jacob huffed out a painful deep chuckle as he threw you a sardonic grin. “We can take them.

“With your arm?”

“A scratch, love.”

The glare you threw him only earned you another chuckle as he stepped ahead of you towards the Blighters. That man never turned down a fight, and it was moments like these you really wished he would. Already injured and exhausted, you weren’t sure exactly how well this little scrap was going to go for you both. It was true that you were an accomplished assassin in your own right, but you were still human.

After a moment of indecision, you stepped forward as well – you would always have his back, even if he was being a complete moron. You stood to his right, your hands flexing into fists to gain back the feeling in them as you prepared yourself for the fight.

In the blink of an eye it happened; Jacob ducked an incoming punch from the larger Blighter, feinting to the left before aiming a powerful jab to the stomach. The Blighter doubled over, clutching his abdomen before whipping around for another try. It was enough to give you a chance to catch the other by surprise, catching the smaller opponent with a right hook to the jaw.

You quickly shook your hand, rubbing it from the pain of the impact. It didn’t matter how many times you practiced – a good hit always smarted on some level. The Blighter spat blood onto the cobblestones, wiping his mouth as he brandished a small knife.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered under your breath as you leaped back to avoid a swipe.

The Blighter swung once with the knife, and the next with his fist, catching you in the side. Your breath left your lungs all at once as you stumbled, desperately trying to block the following blows. A firmly placed kick sent you sprawling into the hard unforgiving ground. Dirt smudged your face as the stone scraped your chin, leaving the bitter metallic taste of blood in your mouth. Rolling over, you gasped softly as the Blighter stood over you, the knife glinting as he brought it over his head for the killing blow.

You closed your eyes, bracing for impact, but it never came. The Blighter dropped limply to the side, Jacob standing where he had been only moments before. A smug smile crossed his lips as he stared down at you.

“Saved your life.”

“That isn’t funny, Jacob,” you growled, taking the hand he extended to you.

He replied with a slight shrug, the smug smirk still on his face as he led you towards a carriage parked on the side of the street. “At least they left us a little gift,” he said, assisting you in stepping over the larger Blighter’s limp form.

“Oh no, I’m driving this time,” you said, pushing him gently aside as he made to go get into the driver’s seat.

“I’m not that bad,” he defended, climbing up next to you.

You snatched up the reins before he even had time to protest, clucking your tongue to urge the horse forward. The small bay whinnied in response, taking off at a light trot along the dark street. With the streets mostly deserted, it was the perfect opportunity to urge the horse into a quicker pace, and the mare was only happy to oblige as you lightly touched her back with the whip.

“Whoa, easy!” Jacob yelped, hanging onto the seat as the carriage jolted along the uneven street.

Oh, was he not liking a little taste of how he drove? Ignoring his shouts was easy as you turned the carriage sharply underneath the bridge towards the station. The mare took the turn with ease, speeding up at your urging along the straight away. Her neck became lathered in sweat as her hooves pounded against the stone, her shoes making sparks as you hurried her along.

“You’re going to kill us,” Jacob breathed, glaring at you as you took another sharp turn.

“No more than you would,” you shot back, returning his glare as you made the last turn towards the station.

“There isn’t anyone behind us, slow down!”

Pulling back gently on the reins, you eased the mare into a more controlled and easy pace, praising her on her willingness to do as you asked. Eventually you asked her to stop, climbing down gingerly as you jostled your bumps and bruises. Jacob more fell out of the carriage rather than climbed out. He groaned softly as he straightened, testing his own aches before walking carefully towards the stairs to the platform.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” you muttered, following him.

As you reached his side, you gently put your arm around his waist as his came around your shoulders. The differences in your heights made it perfect to use each other as a crutch up the stairs. Navigating carefully, you made it safely to the train, climbing on as quietly as you could.

“If we’re lucky Evie will still be out,” you murmured as you let him sit on the couch. There wasn’t a hint of the older twin on the train, so you prayed your thanks and looked back to Jacob.

His arm had resumed bleeding, staining through the multiple layers he had on. You took a glance in the mirror, seeing a good amount of bruising and dried blood – thankfully most of it wasn’t yours – but no visible cuts that needed immediate attention. That left you free to take a look at Jacob’s arm.

“Okay, jacket off,” you said firmly as you retrieved the medical supplies that Henry had stashed.

“You know, love, if you wanted to get my clothes off we didn’t have to get into a brawl first – OUCH!” His seductive tone had quickly turned to a yelp of pain as you smacked his injured arm.

“Don’t get smart with me, Frye,” you growled.

The younger twin begrudgingly fell silent with a pout as he removed his jacket and vest to give you better access to his arm. You quickly rummaged through the supplies, finding exactly what you needed.

“Now hold still,” you commanded, sitting down with a clean rag.

You ignored Jacob’s grimaces as you disinfected the wound, wiping away the dirt and dried blood along the edges. The young assassin’s breath hitched painfully as you cut the rest of the fabric away and began to stitch up the wound. It took you only a matter of minutes, but Jacob’s grunts made it seem like an eternity.

“Done,” you declared, putting the materials aside as you used the rag to gently pat around the finished sutures.

With a quick glance it looked like the arm was the worst of his problems, so you grabbed a fresh rag and a bowl of water to clean the blood and grime from the rest of his scrapes and bruises. Before you could even sit back down Jacob took the rag and bowl out of your hands.

“Allow me,” he said, motioning for you to sit down.

“You are in worse shape than I am,” you protested, letting yourself sink into the comfortable cushions on the couch.

“I think you need to look back into the mirror, love.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, your body ached fiercely and sitting still felt so good. You would have fallen asleep right then and there if you had been given the opportunity. Jacob, however, had different ideas as he gingerly wiped at the cut above your eye.

“I know,” he soothed as you flinched, holding your chin gently in his other hand as he continued to wipe the dirt away.

“Thank you,” you whispered, closing your eyes as the rag trailed down to the scrapes on your cheek.

“For?”

“Standing up for me back in the pub.”

That familiar smirk slid back onto his face as he dipped the rag back into the bowl of water. Wringing it out carefully, he focused his attention onto your knuckles, wiping off the dried blood.

“Anything for you, darling.”

The pet name caught you off guard, your eyes darting up to his, hesitating there. Love had always been something he had called you – darling was something else entirely. Not that you didn’t like it, but it left a question in your eyes that made him smile slightly. The smile never left his face as he gently wrapped your hand in a bandage; his touch was gentle, something you never would have expected from the rugged assassin.

“Jacob?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up as he set the bowl down on the floor, the rag thrown carelessly in. The water had turned a reddish brown, making your stomach turn at the thought of what had been diluted by it.

Grabbing a hold of your nerves, you reached up and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling his lips towards yours. They were rough and chapped against your soft ones, and you could taste a stale hint of the alcohol he had drank hours earlier. Despite his surprise, he returned your affections cautiously, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid you would break.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Now, if I knew that was how you would thank me I would have stood up for you sooner,” he joked, winking and grinning as your cheeks flushed bright red.

Your look of uncertainty was quickly replaced with a glare as the grin slipped into a teasing smirk. His hand came up, gently taking hold of your chin again to bring you forward for another kiss, this one more demanding than the last. You couldn’t help but respond back just as eagerly now that the initial awkwardness was out of the way. Your nerves felt as if they were on fire in every place he touched, his fingers carefully avoiding the bumps and bruises as they trailed down to your shoulder.

After a moment, you pulled away, your breath slightly labored from the intensity. “So where does this leave us?” you asked hesitantly.

“Shh, less talking,” he whispered, planting soft kisses on your nose and cheek before returning to your lips.

Smug bastard.

 

Evie walked as quietly as she could as she went from car to car towards the one that held all of her papers. It was much later than she had anticipated, but she had found what she had been looking for. Now all she needed was a few papers to help her decipher what it meant. Entering the car, she slowed her pace as she heard Jacob’s deafening snores. Of course – she was going to have to go to the next one down if she wanted to get any work done. That racket could wake the dead and made concentrating difficult.

Sighing softly to herself, she rounded the corner only to see something she didn’t quite expect. Jacob was sprawled on the couch, his head tilted back at an odd angle as he snored. One arm was stretched out above his head as the other cradled you against his chest. To make the position even more uncomfortable, one of his legs dangled off the side of the couch. You, on the other hand, looked perfectly happy curled against him. You had stripped yourself of your disgusting jacket so you were in a simple shirt and pants.  
Luckily for you, your entire body was on the couch, and you were going to be in better condition than Jacob in the morning. Your head rested lightly against his chest, rising and falling with each snore, which you didn’t seem to notice.

Evie noticed the swelling along your cheek and chin, and the line of stitches in Jacob’s arm. It was a wonder you two hadn’t died yet with all of the trouble you got into. She had little doubt that the both of you had been drinking, and that there was going to be some story when she questioned you about it tomorrow.

Moving to a nearby cupboard, Evie grabbed a large blanket and gently draped it over you. The only response you could manage was a slight shift and unintelligible muttering, your eyes never opening.

“Sweet dreams,” Evie murmured, grabbing the papers she needed off the desk before heading to the next car over. Hopefully the Rooks there weren’t snoring and she would be able to get some work done.


End file.
